It warns ones heart
to see the return
of beautiful faces we...
traversed with across the seven seas,
now in voices of sparrows
soft and sweet,
we can hardly wait to hear
the politest speech, of one
since long in hibernation,
as do some birds,
awaiting the return of a spring
ere the summer…
such melodious voices like cuckoo’s sing
and
songs of praise all poets murmur
the one we missed most,
now returns
and
the warmth of flames in our hearts does burn.

My sister,
tired and haggard,
caring for two infants,
saw the camera pointed at her
and was instantly photogenic .

Is it a craft or skill,
dare I say sullen and unlearned ?
Pause your DVD and see
beauty transformed by drooping eyelids,
bad moments captured.

How would you feel if your eyes captured only those moments,
or the beauteous ones,
depending on mood,
like me.
Or do you?

I really want to know.

My friend, yellow lined
Made my lonely dreams come true
Gold collections grew
Images in my minds eye
Gems etched in italic print

Amavi
blood trails feed
nights wingtips breeding stars

The false prophets have misled us
And we have crawled on our knees
To this modern miseries
Long away from the ancestral home

We are now lost in the wastelands of time
And our throats sourly scorch
From the long walk across the dirt of the desert
But the waters from the distant oceans
Bypasses in a pitiless hurry
And bidding us a mocking farewell

The bark of an AK-47
crack of a sniper bullet
nowhere to be seen
cries for a medic
being heard in every direction

On the six o’clock news
nothing but sadness
“Unit X was ambushed today”
“X amount of soldiers
Have died so far”

On the home front
cries of protest erupt
people saying this is
just another Vietnam
while yellow ribbon
flies in the air

The bureaucratic fat cats
sitting behind their desks
lining their pockets
with the money of
the dead and the innocent

Asylum's Height

through
earth and sky
ever flowing in tune
with the portals
connecting dimensions
coupling heart with mind
measuring breath
for heartbeat

Silence
hung between
mountain reflections
beyond practiced
night
massive windows emerged
...slowly...
imperceptibly
between thick snow clouds
the pillows of ubiquity

You yourself poet
have belled the cat
very few,
including me,
understand the riddles
behind camouflaged poesy
so beautiful
and
a pussy,
I still see from the rear balcony,
as dogs with open lashing tongues
erase moments of ecstasy
awaiting their turn,
to take on
while others are at it
this was my impression
but you beat me.

A poet is one ,
who says what?
and
so many ask why?

What was my problem with the world again?
Oh yes, it hates me
Mostly on Saturdays and alternating Fridays
Once a month on Thursday
And at least twice a week fifth period.

Lately the universe hasn’t been so bad
(Hey, it hasn’t been amazing either)
But I’ve had my moments.
Some I could’ve gone without,
But they were kinda nice while they lasted.

The woodbine decorates its host in yellow
but gay blossoms cover its true intent
as it attempts to choke the little tree
or at the least leave it twisted and bent

Young tree accomodates its tormenter
by bulging bark between the ropy vine
which tightens as the growing tree gains girth
it's mere luck this tree's not a soft barked pine

This alder I spotted beside a road
on verge of death as its starved leaves browned
I cut and freed it from its stranging foe
a helical staff I now tote around